Taking Care
by Willowsticks
Summary: When Camille is ill Richard steps in to take care of her - one shot


**Ok – I've been struggling with whether to publish this for a while – I just wasn't sure if it was a strange subject to write a story on – but I suppose you will be the judges of that! Thank you to those of you who quite rightly told me to grow a pair and publish. **

**Also I keep forgetting to thank people for reviewing. It is very much appreciated I can assure you! **

Richard was confused. Camille was mercurial at the best of times but today she was being downright weird. She had spent the majority of the day shifting between flirting with him and shooting him death stares, seemingly for no apparent reason. He wasn't quite sure if it was his fault or not. It probably was, but he had made an effort not to say or do anything inflammatory all day. She had made it abundantly clear in their short relationship that he had a lot to learn about women. He was assured of the fact that she loved him but he apparently needed to learn to surprise her more, to stop living life by his own agenda. This whole relationship thing was a mine field to him, it always had been. He felt that he was barely treading water with her, she was so different from anything else he had known, but he also knew that he couldn't be happier. And so, he had found himself walking her back to her house. She had been seemed enthusiastic at first when he had suggested dinner together, a little guarded too but perhaps that was more to do with the fact that she thought he was cooking, but as they got closer to their destination her enthusiasm had waned and he had felt more like an intruder.

He wasn't quite sure what the problem was but she was being contrary again. Changing her mind between striding ahead of him then dropping back so she was dawdling. He'd tried taking her hand, and she had held it for a moment giving it a squeeze before dropping it. When they had finally made it to her house she went straight into her kitchen. He followed her meekly and saw that she was standing by the worktop looking out of the window. He stood behind her.

"Camille, are you sure you really want me to be here?"

"Yes of course."

He wondered for a moment if he should leave anyway, but she seemed to want him to stay. He decided to do as she asked for once and surprise her. He put his arms around her drawing her back closer towards him. He buried his lips in her neck, breathing in her scent. He noticed that she looked tired and she seemed pale, but he took no notice of it as she responded by tipping her head back towards him and his hands roamed over her stomach, it was probably the light anyway.

He heard the hiss of a sharp intake of breath. It wasn't the sound that she usually made. He dropped his hands immediately. "Camille, I'm sorry. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

He tried to touch her again but she brushed his hand away as she turned around, "don't."

He stepped back. She had seemed to be more tired recently...it was like he was looking at her for the first time. He dived in without thinking, "Camille, you're not pregnant are you?"

Her temper flared up again, "no, I'm not pregnant Richard!"

"No, of course not. Sorry, that was a stupid thing to say." She looked at him. Damn it, he actually looked upset.

"Richard, are you disappointed?"

"No!" He hated the way that his cheeks had the beginnings of a flush to them, almost more than the fact that he hated the way that his heart had leapt a little at the thought that she might be carrying his child. It was too soon.

"Why would you even think that anyway?"

"I don't know, I just thought...well you've been a little more unpredictable recently, and sometimes you look ill, and then you flinched when I touched your stomach." Another worse possibility now dawned on him. "Is it me? Do you not want me to touch you?"

Her look softened. "Of course it's not you." She leant in to kiss him, but instinctively flinched away from him as he ran his hands over her abdomen again.

He looked thoroughly confused. "Camille what's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Please tell me, things have been odd between us for a couple of days, you didn't even want to see me yesterday. If I've done something wrong, then please just tell me so I can fix it."

She relented, she hated the idea that she might hurt him by lying. "I just don't feel very well..."

Relief and concern flooded his face. "Have you been to the doctor?"

"It's not that kind of illness Richard, I can deal with stomach cramps..."

He looked confused. "What do you mean it's not that kind of illness?"

She gave him an exasperated look to indicate that he was missing something and he mentally started putting the pieces of the puzzle together: _mood swings, tired, stomach cramps_, _definitely not pregnant_, "oh. OH. Well that's fine."

"It's not fine Richard, it hurts! And don't you dare start on some rant about differing pain thresholds between men and women, because I'm not sure I have the energy to hit you right now. "

"I'm sorry, that's not what I meant. I just meant that it's fine for you to tell me, I don't understand why you didn't say anything yesterday?" She shrugged. "What on earth did you think would happen? That I would run screaming from the building?"

She looked a little embarrassed, "I didn't really think that you would want to spend time with me when I'm like this..." Even though she had remained still Richard got the distinct impression that she was referring to the way she looked, that she might need reassurance for some reason. He took a step towards her.

"You know, you don't actually look any different to me..." She looked a little disbelieving at this. He ploughed on, hoping that he wasn't digging himself into trouble. "And the mood swings aren't really anything I haven't seen before..." She managed a small smile. "So all in all, I don't see why I wouldn't want to spend time with you...but if you don't want me here then I'll go, I don't mind, honestly." She shook her head, indicating him to stay. He cupped her face and kissed her softly, marvelling at what an idiot he had been not to have noticed. For the first time in two days she let the pretence fall from her face, allowing Richard to see the pain etched clearly across her features. She looked miserable. He wondered why he hadn't noticed at work, how she had been able to hide it, perhaps the distractions had made it easier. But judging from her expression now, all she wanted to do was curl up in a ball somewhere. There was no longer a need to pretend with him and she was already looking very sorry for herself, not that he would ever have told her that. She looked up and realised that Richard was looking at her mouth slightly agape.

"What is it?"

"I just can't believe I didn't realise how bad you feel. That makes me the worst..."he sighed heavily realising how unobservant he had been over the past couple of days, how wrapped up in his own happiness and insignificant problems. He seemed to make his mind up about something, moving her out of the way so that he could methodically rummage through her kitchen drawers.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking for a hot water bottle. Isn't that normal in this situation?"

"I don't need you to look after me Richard."

He was back in front of her. He wanted more than anything to stroke his hands over her stomach again but wasn't sure if that would be classified as annoying and unnecessary pawing. He settled for resting his hands lightly on hers. "I know, but I want to take care of you. Please don't make me feel totally useless."

Even though she didn't need it and would really rather have been on her own, she nodded. She couldn't help it, he was adorable. She'd never really been with anyone who cared this much before, and if he was willing to stay with her when she felt this bad and let's face it probably looked it too (regardless of what he said), then he was probably worth keeping close.

"Bottom drawer under the kettle." He kissed her cheek quickly and moved to fill the kettle. When it was boiling he came back to her.

"What do you want to eat?"

"Are you going to cook for me?"

"That was the plan...unless you don't want me to?"

"I don't mind."

He looked at her closely and realised that the facade was back, she was trying not to be a burden. "Camille, you don't need to pretend that you feel ok. I don't mind. I want to look after you, please?"

She relented again, didn't know why she was giving in to him. She had planned to order take away, but seeing as he was keen to cook, she might as well take him up on it. "Macaroni and cheese?"

He smiled and nodded, as she added as an afterthought "and ice cream." His smile turned into a grin.

"I'm seriously hoping that you don't want the two of them together..."

"No!"

"Thank God for that." He was already going through her cupboards and fridge looking for the necessary ingredients. He was grateful to find that she had everything that he would need, relieved that she had chosen something he was able to cook. He filled the hot water bottle, put the pasta on and turned to find that she was still watching him.

"Sofa. Now." She looked at him, bemused at how a man seemingly so socially inept with the entire population of the island could be so intuitive and caring with her when she needed it. He took her by the hand and lead her gently to the sofa, placing the hot water bottle in her hands . "Sit."

"I'm not a dog."

"Clearly." He had gone back to Inspector mode and was studying her DVD collection intently, running his finger over the spines as he made a quick catalogue of the titles available to him. He came to a conclusion with relative ease and pulled several titles towards him.

"Ok. We have several options."

"And you think these are the right options do you?"

"Yes, judging by the fact that the majority of your film collection is either action or thriller based. These titles are clearly not your usual choice and they seem to be handled slightly more than all the others meaning that you have probably watched them regularly." He paused to allow her time to digest his latest revelation. "So we have the following: The Devil Wears Prada, How to Lose a Guy in 10 days, The Proposal, Miss Congeniality and Bridget Jones. At a guess I would suggest either of the last two." Her smile grew stronger. She was amazed at how easily he was able to read her, embarrassed that the choices weren't exactly high brow.

"Miss Congeniality please." He put the DVD on and returned to the kitchen. 15 minutes later, the roux completed, cheese added, and the oven on, he returned to the sofa and sat on the arm.

"You don't have to watch if you don't want to. I know it's probably not your thing."

"Camille, she's an undercover FBI agent at a beauty pageant, what's not to like?"

She giggled. "Seriously."

"I know, I want to." He kissed her forehead and vanished into the kitchen again, reappearing after much cupboard clattering and timer beeping, carrying a delicious looking plateful of macaroni and cheese piled high with additional melted cheese. He was slightly worried about how it would taste, there hadn't been any Cheddar (there never was on this bloody island), but he had used what was available to him, and although French cheese usually smelled pretty potent to him it actually looked alright.

He tried not to watch as she took her first bite, he could only hope that it was ok. He needn't have worried, Camille was devouring it like she hadn't eaten for a week. "Oh God, this is delicious Richard!"

He disappeared to get a second plate for himself, pride swelling unseen in his chest and set himself up on the sofa next to her, careful not to get too close, the last thing he wanted to do was to crowd her. They watched in silence for a while and Richard was surprised to find that he was actually enjoying himself. Clearly the choice of film had a lot to be desired but it actually wasn't as bad as he had thought it would be, very formulaic perhaps, but Camille seemed to be enjoying it and for now that was all that mattered to him. He noticed that she had finished her plate.

"More?" She shook her head and he took the plate to the kitchen, returning with a pot of ice cream and a spoon.

"No bowl?"

"I thought you might prefer the pot." He sat down again, careful to sit at the end of the sofa as before but was amazed to find that she immediately closed the gap between then, wriggling her body in against his. She was hot, almost unpleasantly so given the hot water bottle that she was dutifully clutching, but he didn't care. He had already removed his tie and jacket and was amazed to discover that her body temperature actually felt comfortable against his. It felt different holding her on the sofa. In bed she exuded a self – confidence and spirit that he found he almost couldn't compete with. She was strong and defiant and she knew what she wanted. He loved that about her but was often left wondering whether he was enough for her and what on earth he could add to their relationship both in and out of the bedroom. But here she was vulnerable, he felt that she needed him, that he could offer her something. His arm closed around her shoulder. He felt remarkably relaxed as she leaned in closer.

He dropped a kiss in her hair. Then remembered something he wanted to ask her. "Camille, why do you have a hot water bottle here?"

She smiled "I used to live in Paris remember."

"Yes, but now you live in the Caribbean..."

"I know, I suppose that when I moved I just boxed everything up, turns out its kind of useful having it. You can't buy them out here."

"Can't imagine why." She nudged him in the ribs, shushed him and went back to watching the film. A few minutes later she had a question of her own.

"Richard?"

"I thought we weren't allowed to talk?" She shushed him again much to his annoyance. He thought he had proved his point but she tried again.

"I was just wondering," she seemed hesitant, "um, how you knew what to do?" He didn't answer. "Have you done this before?"

He nodded, then looked worried. "It was a long time ago."

"Were you in love with her?"

"I thought I was. Turns out I was wrong. You don't mind do you?"

"No, of course not. I mean, I'm the one benefitting from it aren't I?"

He smiled sheepishly. "I suppose so."

There was another pause before she summed up the courage to sate her curiosity. "What was she like?"

"I can't really remember." Camille raised an eyebrow at this. "No, honestly, I spent so long trying to forget her after we broke up that I'm not even sure what's real and what's not anymore. I can't remember things that she said or did because they get mingled in with things that I used to wish had happened. Looking back on it now, everything about it just seems so average. There was nothing distinctive about any of it."

"I'm sorry."

"Why, do you wish I was still with her?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"At least she'd never have made me watch Miss Congeniality."

"So you do remember something about her..."

"Very funny." He still looked worried. "You know you're more important than anyone I've ever been with don't you."

She nodded then said naughtily "that makes it sound like you've been with a lot of women Richard."

"That's not what I mean and you know it."

"So you haven't been with a lot of women..."

"Stop putting words into my mouth! You know, if you're going to be mean then I clearly don't need to look after you anymore." She gave him her best _I'll behave _face. He felt her forehead and before she could respond said, "you feel hot, is that normal?"

"I'm holding a hot water bottle Richard..."

"I know, but you don't have to stay up." He thought a god night's sleep would do her good.

"I want to finish the film."

"Fine, but straight to bed when it's over." She thought about making a comment on his parenting skills, but wasn't sure if they were ready for that yet. Instead she contented herself by settling back into his arms and after more wriggling ended up lying in his lap, his fingers gently raking back and forth across her abdomen, the hot water bottle discarded in favour of his hand. She sighed contentedly, perhaps he was ready for that after all.

He looked down and saw that she was looking at him. "You're meant to be watching the film."

"I prefer what I'm looking at." She registered his touch and put her hand over his. He stayed his fingers, hoping that he didn't look as wistful as he felt.

"You look frustrated..."

"Not really. You just make it impossible not to want to kiss you." She put a hand up and felt his face. He caught hold of it and pressed it to his lips, then reached for the remote control. "Bed." She pouted but knew that she had been caught out.

"Carry me?"

He thought about putting up a fight then decided that this was a battle he wasn't going to win. "Fine," then tried to curtail the grin that was rapidly spreading on her face, "but this is a one off. I can't do this every time you're ill, or heaven forbid every time we watch a film together Camille. I've enough of a job trying not to put my back out with you as it is." Her grin returned with a vengeance and she nodded and put her arms around him.

"Ready?" She nodded again and he managed to negotiate his way to the edge of the sofa in order to get some additional leverage for when he pushed up against the cushions.

She giggled. "Do you always groan so loudly when you exert yourself."

He raised an eyebrow but decided that now wasn't the time for a smutty repartee. "Perhaps I wouldn't groan so loudly if you didn't weigh a ton!"

"Hey!" he was grateful that both of her arms were currently occupied with the task of anchoring her in his arms so that she couldn't hit him.

"I'm joking. It's probably all that cheese you ate this evening."

"You realise when I'm feeling better you're going to be in big trouble don't you."

"We'll see." He said nothing more until they'd finally made it upstairs, he didn't want Camille to realise how out of breath he was. He dropped her off at the bathroom and went to find something that closely resembled pyjamas. He noted with amusement that this was the second time that evening he was rummaging around in her drawers then chastised himself for being juvenile. He choose the most plain shorts and t shirt he could find then went back to the bathroom and knocked on the door, handing them over to her.

She reappeared climbing into bed. It was only then that she realised Richard was still in his clothes. "You aren't staying?"

"I shouldn't."

"Why?"

"Because you'll sleep better on your own."

"But I want you to stay."

"I'm not leaving, I'll be downstairs."

"What all night?"

"It's perfectly comfortable."

"No, don't go. I still need you. Please?"

Her facial expression tugged at his heart strings and the last thing he wanted to do was to start an argument just before bed. He took off his shoes and socks and was about to climb in beside her when she stopped him with a waggle of her finger, "and the rest."

He narrowed his eyes but did as she asked and stripped down to his boxer shorts, clambering into bed as quickly as he could. "This is just until you fall asleep. After that I'm going downstairs." She nodded and snuggled happily into his arms more tired than she realised.

Richard had just about resolved himself to a night of sleeping in her bed without pyjamas, he hadn't quite reconciled himself to the loss of them, especially as Camille was wearing hers, it didn't seem fair. But there was no way he would be able to move now, not when her body was not so inextricably woven with his. He made one feeble attempt to slide his arm out from underneath her, he really did think it would be best if she slept on her own, but stopped when it caused her to mumble a sleepy "don't leave me."

He settled himself back down on to the pillow aware that he was now unable move from her bed even if he wanted to and whispered "never," hoping that she was no longer awake to hear him.


End file.
